End Of Time: Rewritten
by sleepless dreamer31
Summary: 'I know better than to leave you armed, no TARDIS, no sonic. You're not leaving that soon.' - An excuse for Doctor-Whump.
1. Chapter 1

**The End of Time: Rewritten**

**A/N:**** It is 00:48. The perfect time to write my first Doctor Who fiction (it was really bugging me). This is my first, so I'm sorry in advance if I don't get the characters right and about any spelling mistakes. It's always annoyed me how The Master forgot to take The Doctor's sonic from him, after fighting him for so long and it would have change the story on some form. Sooo…. This is my edit of 'The End Of Time – Part II'; it may not go in the same order as the episode but does start from the very beginning. Sorry if the intros a little long winded!**

**Disclaimer:****I do not own Doctor Who or any of the characters. If I did would I really sit here daydreaming nonsense when I could be running round the TARDIS, playing hide and seek with The Doctor and the Ood.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1:<strong>

The Master turned to see his creations. Over six billion versions of himself and not a single human being in sight, except for this rather old and annoying Wilfred Mott. Immediately, he ordered his guards to take hold of The Doctor and Wilfred. Guns drawn, two men held back a struggling Doctor. Each wrenched an arm behind him, training their guns in their spare hands to his back. The last guard escorted Wilf from the glass chamber towards The Master equally held back without the use of firearms. They stood silently for a second, almost acknowledging each other.

The Doctor swallowed and began to form his words carefully, 'Master please, just listen…'

He hesitated cautiously, watching The Master circle round him till he fell out of view. He could feel The Master breathing down his neck between the two guards, just another way to enforce his authority. He enjoyed keeping The Doctor in the dark.

With baited breath, The Doctor closed his eyes and continued, 'Just wait. Please...-'

He stopped again eyes wide open and alert, blood rushing in as his heart rate grew quicker, but stayed controlled. Pulling out a gun from the guard's belt The Master had placed the cold, metal butt of the gun onto The Doctor's neck. He threatened it further, as he felt The Doctor's voice rise, it was his turn to talk. He turned round to face The Doctor, his gun still posed threateningly at his throat. The Master thrilled by his enemy's fear, began to trail the gun around his body. A childish menacing smile pulled at his mouth as he felt The Doctor stiffen beneath the metal. He watched The Doctor's tense eyes follow the gun to his chest and back up. In one quick movement he pulled the gun to The Doctor's head, the gun clicked in place as a growing anger seethed into The Master. He was enjoying this.

The Doctor's jaw tightened watching the gun with raging fear; he knew he would die, but now? The Doctor tested him gingerly, 'Y- you wouldn't?' he whispered, an edge of panic in his voice.  
>'Oooh, but I want to', he grounded out. The Master hated him enough to kill him and part of him longed to see the Timelord dead but he couldn't do it. He wouldn't kill his final link to Galifrey, to home. But he would watch him fear it. Gun still tightly gripped to his head, The Master released the pistol, only long enough for The Doctor to sigh a sign of relief before he replaced the cold air with a clean swipe of his fist.<p>

'I've had a year of your constant pleas to help me. So I'll tell you now. If I wanted help, I wouldn't get IT from YOU.' The Master's words became progressively louder and more aggressive. By the end, he had lowered his hand towards The Doctor's chest and let out a short sharp burst of energy. White fire coursed through his body, paralysing each nerve like a bullet through paper.

The Doctor's body quickly sank in his captors' arms as the pain elapsed his system. He held his own footing and stayed silent, determined to keep up his integral presence. It was then that Wilf had decided to fill the tensed silence. 'What d'you want with him then, eh?' Wilfred may not have been the strongest of men, but he was certainly brave. Making it his aim to stop the Doctor dying, he attempted to get this Saxon-master bloke's attention. It had earned him a warning glance off the Doctor; he'd had enough people dying in his name.

The Master turned to Wilf, considering the human in his grand plan. 'I want what I've always wanted from The Doctor.' He paused dramatically, grinning from ear to ear, 'I want him to DECLARE that I am his Lord and Master. Of all of time and space, of every ounce and fibre of his body and mind.' He glanced back at The Doctor as though sealing his fate. The Doctor restrained, gave him his 'Leave-him-out-of-this' look, but the Master just turned to revel in Wilf's reaction.

'Fat chance of that', the words blurted out of Wilfred without seconds thought. It almost sounded like something Donna would say.

But it wasn't received well as The Master turned to him quickly. 'I'd keep quiet if I were you, old man. Just think I can still turn you into me,' he sneered, leaning in a little closer so only Wilfred would hear, 'and how much better would you look with my face on it'

Wilfred's face turned to a look of disgust and fear as he realised just how insane this monster was. With fear in his eyes he turned to The Doctor, there was only a dying hint of hope and it was too much for him. He felt like a little lost boy again, caught in the middle of a war.

With the Master's words, 'take them to the main room,' the two were roughly led away to await their inevitable destinies.

The room was of a moderately large size for a mansion. It was well decorated and furnished, yet crudely edited into a control room by The Master's minions. A few more had joined to restrain the prisoners. Roped and bound Wilfred sat passively in his chair as he watched the original Master tie off the final straps on the Doctor's chair; holding his head back at a tiring angle and tightly gagging him too.

Holding on to the mouth strap's end, The Master pulled it back further than it should have allowed. A manic smile plastered his face as he watch The Doctor's skin crease and reddened in his rigid grip. He stared into his nemesis eyes, raging creeping in at the sides as he held him subdued for the moment. A moment yet unbroken.

He leaned in closer, a firm hand on The Doctor's chest warning him as he held his face inches away from him. The Doctor's face edging away, uncomfortable in his position. Their foreheads touched and The Master's eyes melted as he watched The Doctor squirm beneath him. His hand slipping beneath his suit.

'Don't you touch him!' Wilf's voice caught them off guard. He'd forgotten his audience, encapsulated in his greatest prize. The Master did not move, but simply tilted his head to face the human. 'Why?' he asked in true curiosity, malice tripping into his voice. How could The Doctor mean so much to him? He'd never even taken him into space, messed his grand-daughter's life and yet he still adored him. Just as everyone else seemed to. Wilfred stayed silent, unsure of his words. He had no rule over The Master, and there was certainly nothing he could say to make The Master change his mind. He sat and watched the gleeful Master turn to his Timelord prisoner.

Holding him close, a smile spread across his face like an infection. 'Found it,' The Master jeered triumphantly, jumping back The Doctor and sending two burst of energy his way in ecstasy. The Doctor twisted in pain, his gag holding in his moan. He watched with Wilf in confusion, it seemed that The Master was far worse than clinically insane.

'What? Did you think I loved you, wanted you, Doctor? That my hearts poured out for you?' he pouted, mocking The Doctor, 'Think again!' His voice rose, revealing the Doctor's sonic and TARDIS key in hand. He'd picked from The Doctor's pocket, slyly. A smug smile upon his face, 'I know better than to leave you armed, no TARDIS, no sonic. You're not leaving that soon.'

Having completed his work, he grinned a chilling and sinister smirk before addressing his clones on the large screen before him.

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><p><strong>AN: REVIEWS ARE KINDLY WELCOMED. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for the review. **

**I have mock exams going on right now, so an update may be belated, I'm trying to have the next two chapters up by Wednesday.**

**Chapter 2:**

'Six billion seven hundred and twenty seven million, nine hundred and forty nine thousand, three hundred and thirty-eight versions of us, all awaiting orders, sir.' A duplicate Master rang out from the screen; it was followed by transmissions from the US President, U.N.I.T's Geneva HQ and the Central Military Commission in Beijing. All ready to fight and serve the master, each planted with his cynical face on them. It disgusted Wilfred to think they were once all people, humans, and each face scared him even more. A hopeful glance towards the doctor showed he felt the same way, muscles tensed yet contained behind a skin a full of morals and justice.

'Enough soldiers and weapons to turn this planet into a warship', The Master revelled in his thoughts, directing his words to the gagged doctor, ' Nothing to say? What's that, Doctor? Pardon? Sorry?' his words mocking the Timelord as he pouted his face towards him. The doctor was furious inside stayed resilient, silent murmurs passing through the gag in a low harsh tone.

'Let him go, you swine', both Timelords turned somewhat puzzled to Wilfred. His face edged with a fading confidence at his newly found attention. The doctor now focused for the first time on Wilf, realised what he'd brought him into. Frail and vulnerable, the once happy granddad sat bundled in rope yet again attempting to take the heat off of his friend.

'Your dad's still kicking up a fuss'

'I'd be proud if I was'

The Doctor smiled at Wilf's growing confidence, he would've joined his banter had he not been so rudely encased. But a dark glare from the master, showed how it tested his patience.  
>'Hush now. Listen to your Master', his voice low and menacing, reminding Wilf of his earlier threat. He would have continued to chill the hearts of his captives but ...<br>It was the sound of a bell. No. More artificial...  
>'... Is that...? But that's a mobile.' the master seemed confused, an underlying sense of fear as a flaw had ebbed into his full-proof plan.<p>

'It's mine. Let me switch it off', Wilfred exclaimed fear now rising in his voice, though how he would get it seemed impossible in his current state.

'No. I don't think you understand,' the master still confused and angered, continued, 'Everyone on this Planet is ME. And I'm not phoning you, so who the hell is that?'  
>Anger seeped through every word, as the phone continued to ring. The Doctor creasing up against his restraints on the end of his seat as Wilf seemed to pray for his vibrating pocket to still.<p>

The Master crouched down to Wilfred's level and began to dig out his pocket contents, despite the pleas. He cocked out an old service revolver to the Doctor's surprise and shame. 'Oh, and look at this! Good man!' he acted out his callous words before continuing his search. With two fingers, he'd found the source and read the screen name.  
>'Donna! Who's Donna?'<br>'No one. Just leave it'

Standing up, The Master ignored him again allowing the mobile on speakerphone, he ushers a finger to his mouth and listens to the desperate cries of Donna Noble.  
>'Gramps, don't hang up, you've got to help- '<p>

The Doctor now flushed with fear and anxiety seems to zone out, focussing on the other side of the phone call. His eyes left the phone only once as Wilfred explained the 'metacrisis' to the master. 'Oh he loves playing with Earth girls...' He continued to cut the Master's voice out, face brimming with frustration at his powerlessness, listening to Donna's every step. His eyes tracing the phone, as The Master held it up to Wilfred's ear sharing in his friend's pain. He could feel Donna's memories return to her, flooding her system. It was too much.

The Master began throwing out orders, 'Trace the call, find her!'  
>It did not take him long to return, the phone between himself and Wilfred.<br>'Say goodbye to the freak, granddad', The Master's face alight with glee.  
>'Donna get out of there', He was desperate, words falling over each other as he urged her to 'Run!'<br>The Doctor's mind burned with hers, his breath short and ragged. The memories were returning to her and he could sense it raging, coupled with the fear of The Master he wasn't sure how long she'd last. It was just getting 'hotter and hotter and hotter...'

an inevitable silence filled the room, as the line went dead. The Master's face turned without remorse as he watched Wilf search:  
>'Donna, Donna... are you there?...' his voice a low broken whisper. The Master turned, unsatisfied. His darkened expression edged towards The Doctor, striding to his side. A victorious wink from the Doctor seems short-lived as a raged filled Master tore back the mouth strap.<p>

'That's better! Hello! But really, did you really think I'd leave my best friend without a defence mechanism?' The Doctor moistened his mouth having one less restraint to escape. He really did love to talk.  
>'Doctor, what happened?' Wilf's voice was desperate, fearing for Donna's life.<br>'She's alright, she's fine, I promise, she'll just sleep' The Doctor assured him, his tone confident and constant as he calmed Wilfred. His eyes turned to meet The Master, as he watched a devilish grin spread across the Timelord's face.

'Where's your TARDIS?' his voice malicious and dark.  
>'You could be so wonderful.'<br>Where is it?' ignoring the Doctor's time wasting.  
>'You're a genius, stone cold brilliant you are, I swear, you really are', His words were genuine, transparent eyes projected his honesty. 'But you could be so much more. You could be beautiful. With a mind like that, we could travel the stars. It would be my honour. You don't need to own the universe. Just see it. To have the privilege of seeing the whole of time and space...<br>...That's ownership enough'  
>The Doctor's voice was soft and trusting, persuading The Master to join him. He was almost convinced, if only the banging would stop. That Noise? But...<br>'...would it stop, then? The noise in my head', he directed to his skull tapping in the drumbeat unconsciously. He had to know, to try.  
>'I can help!' The Doctor was alight with hope. He could almost see his old friend, he had longed for that company, that Timelord presence.<p>

The Master seemed almost scared now, fear and tears welling up inside him, 'I don't know what I'd be. Without that noise'  
>'Wonder what I'd be, without you?' The Doctor posing his own question of fate and life. A realisation of time fell upon them. They'd fought each other for so long and it had come to this.<br>'Yeah', The Master smiled, tears on the verge of falling. Pausing as he thought of how their lives had turned; two lonely men on a planet they could never call home. Refugees?

Wilf stared in amazement. He watched the two Timelords, deeply engaged in their own conversation. Only now did they really look like aliens to him, talking of things that made no sense to him. 'What does he mean? What noise...?' he spoke trying to understand their words.  
>The Master turned round to explain. His moment with The Doctor had not been broken; postponed. He looked back, bitter words still unspoken but his fellow Timelord stayed silent allowing him to talk of the past. He had not said a word aloud of his youth in at least a few hundred years.<p>

'It began on Galifrey. As children', The Master began,  
>his thoughts turning more and more nostalgic with every word, 'not that you'd call it childhood. Just a life of Duty. Eight years old, I was taken for initiation. To stare into the Untempered Schism.'<br>His words slowly became more aggressive and bitter, seeming to hate his 'so-called' childhood. Glancing back at The Doctor for his opinion, it seemed he'd agreed for change, only the Doctor wouldn't have put it so darkly.

'...what does that mean?' Wilfred was still lost in their language. He wanted to understand but just needed more clarity.

'It's a gap in the fabric of reality. You can see into the time vortex itself.' The Doctor explained seeing his confusion, but a glare from the Master told him his 'rude' interruption had been noticed, '... And it hurts'  
>His voice was sympathetic, taking his cue to stop.<p>

'They took me there. In the dark. I looked into Time, Old man. And I heard IT. Calling to Me. The Drumbeat. The NEVER ENDING DRUMS...'

**A/N: sorry if you didn't like the chapter, I thought I'd keep these scenes as its quite fitting for the rest of the plot.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

Galifrey was in ruins. They had torn it apart, fighting for survival alone. The Lord President began working upon a renewed destiny; he would mould time into his will. So long as The Doctor lived, a survivor of the war, there was a way out. A final death to be fulfilled.

They had been finding a way out of the war. A link between them and the future, it had become clear that death was not a valid option. They would not die. He would resurrect them. And it seemed The Master was the link. 'History says The Master heard a rhythm. A torment that stayed with him for the rest of his life.' The Chancellor explained, uncertain if this would help.

'A drumbeat. A warrior's march...', The President speculated waiting to see the meaning of his words. He could not waste time, the entire Timelord history riding on their survival.  
>'A symptom of insanity, my lord' The Chancellor affirmed in dismay.<br>The President turned in his chair, 'I wonder'.  
>He stared forward, The Visionary's stark widened pupils glaring black. She was muttering maniacally, her black painted nails tapping against the table. The beats of madness and insanity.<br>The Lord President now lurching out of his chair, focusing on the each and every tap. 'A rhythm of four. The heartbeat of a Timelord!'


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

The small earth room was filled with the uttered breath of three people. The prime players of the game, for life and death. One was mad, the other afraid and the last. The last was lost.  
>'Listen to it. Just listen.' The Mad one's voice rose from the darkest depths of his thought.<br>His saviour returned with slight hesitation, ' Let's find it, you and me.'  
>The Master turned to him, the old madness creeping into his chilling smile. He rose from his chair, revelling in his thoughts.<br>'I could... Yes, oh! But that's clever. No. Wait a minute, yes. Oh but that's good!' His thoughts came together in a masterful plan, hidden from his nemesis.

'What? What is?' The Doctor questioned, The Master's madness worried him. He needed him, for once, needed him to help.

'That noise exists within my head... And now within six billion heads. Every person on Earth can hear it. Imagine...ohhh yes!' The pieces fell into place as The Master painted his horrified vision to The Doctor. A sense of excitement filling his body, he shuddered in pain and delight. Perched down he flickered to his skeletal form, fighting the change. Both The Doctor and Wilf were shaken and in that moment The Doctor could see it. 'The Gate. It wasn't enough, I saw you. You're still dying.'

'This body was born out of death. All it can do is die' The Master rose grinding the words through his teeth savagely. 'But what did you say to me, back at the wasteland? You said, the End of Time...' He turned to The Doctor in growing realisation.  
>'I said, something is returning, I was shown a prophecy. But that's why I need your help...!' The Doctor pleaded with every word, he knew this was bigger him, bigger than the two of them.<p>

'But what if I'm part of it? Don't you see?' The Master began to piece his own fantasy together, his final calling. The call to war, 'The drumbeat called from so far away - from the End of Time itself. And now it's been amplified six billion times! Triangulate those signals - I could find its source!'  
>Twisting his own livid fantasy, The Doctor seemed to believe him for a second, losing hope in fighting his friend for his life.<p>

'Ohhh Doctor, That's what your prophecy was! Me!' Vivid madness rose in his eyes, striding towards The Doctor he slapped him hard on the cheek.  
>Every nerve flinched in pain; his body shook and pulled back as much as it could in its restraints. But The Doctor refused to let out a whisper; he would not give the sadist the satisfaction of his screams.<br>The Master snarled menacingly, he composed himself and lowered his voice - calm and controlled. 'Where's your TARDIS?' he questioned again, conversationally.

'No. Just stop, Just THINK-' The Doctor's words fell over each other as watched The Master raise his arm and give the order, 'Kill him!'

'I need that technology Doctor, tell me where it is or the old man dies!' The Master was growing impatient, standing by the guard. He knew The Doctor; he wouldn't have anyone die in his place.  
>'Don't tell him!', the human rang out.<br>'I'll kill him! Right now!'

'Actually the most impressive thing about you is that after all this time, you're still bone-dead-stupid', Quite amused, The Doctor seemed inappropriately happy and light hearted. Even the sound of the safety latch on the gun did not faze him. 'You've got six billion pairs of eyes, but you still can see the obvious, can you?'  
>'Like what?', The Master humoured him.<br>But The Doctor's voice turned dark with a smallish grin, 'That guard is one inch too tall.'

The words sank in a little too late, as The Master flashed round. He met the butt of the gun lashing towards his face. His body fell shattered across the ground, unconscious. Wilf looked up in amazement, beneath the visor came Rossiter, in spiky green Vinvocci form. He too seemed a little startled, 'Oh my God. I hit him! I've never hit anyone in my life!'  
>Seconds later the grand wooden doors burst open and Addams entered Vinvocci form. She ran straight to cut Wilf free, shredding away the rope in seconds, 'We need to get out of here, Fast!'<br>'God bless the cactuses'  
>'That's cacti'<br>'That's racist'; their last sense normality was to be short lived. Wilfred had been freed and Addams was keen to leave, 'Come on, we've got to get out'  
>The Doctor was still tied up, Rossiter stood fumbling with the straps he just didn't know where to start. 'There's too many buckles and straps!'<br>Addams became more anxious watching the time slip by, ''Just... Gaah! Wheel him!' With that, Rossiter grasped the handle and tipped the chair back at angle, wheeling him out.  
>'No no no, get me out of here! No-no-no-no. Don't Don't DON'T-' The Doctor's voice came stricken<br>with panic and fear.  
>The Master's clone ringing out 'Doctaaaar!' from the screen behind them, as they rushed out the room.<p>

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><p>The Master was unconscious in the control room; his head had become alight with pain. It was something he hadn't felt in awhile. He pushed his thoughts aside and focused on his clones. He grafted his thoughts into their minds, urging them to find The Doctor before they escaped. Each one felt the other's pain, as the gun connected with his head. Three armed guards flooded the room, 'Find him! Find HIM- '. The dazed Master called out to them, holding his hand to head he found a speck of dark crimson blood. Rage fed his blackened soul as he joined his guards in the hunt.<br>'FIND HIM NOW!'

Launching themselves down the corridor they ran in hot pursuit of The Doctor, tongues licking the air. The taste of their prey driving them on, he could smell him. Just that smell of Galifrey and fear, doused in the scent of an old man; 900 years old, surrounded by degenerate little humans. He smelt of Christmas and wet dried-out alien snow. And there was sweat, all salty and dripping, with a hint ash and dust from the room.

'Underneath the gateroom, sir', a guard registered into The Master. Three more joined their hunt as they were directed to the basement. The smell was getting stronger and heavier, biting at their throats.

The Master ran, turning a final corner to the basement as he led his men into his own little sadistic game. Just a smile perched on his lips, his trademark grin, as he heard his three other guards run in trapping his prey. Six guns rose, ready and primed at their targets.  
>'Gotcha!'<p>

**A/N: Next update comes up on Wednesday; there will be twists in the story coming up soon. This was generally from The Master's view, hope you like it. REVIEW, please **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: One of my favourite scenes from this episode – The Escape**

**Chapter 5:**

Red lights flashed around them, the intruder alarms had been set off. 14.2 seconds The Doctor had estimated it took The Master to realise and now a whole private army would be after them. The Vinvocci sped him down another corridor, taking a sharp turn which rammed him into his bonds. He pulled at his restraints desperately trying to tear them away to no avail. Even his rescuers seemed lost in a maze.

'Which way?'

'This way', Addams led the way, turning at every point.

'No no no, the other way, I've got my TARDIS-'

They turned another corner and pulled the words out The Doctor's mouth running as fast as they could. 'I know what I'm doing!' She assured him, The Doctor knew her plan already and he was sure that if he knew, it wouldn't take The Master long to work it out. Pushing past her stubbornness he pleaded again, 'No no no, just listen to me!'

He pulled at his restraints again in frustration._ Why did they never listen?_ A realisation dawned on him and he flailed his arms violently, watching the familiar path creep into sight.

'NOT THE STAIRS. NOT THE STAIRS!'

His protests were made too late, his chair striding down the cracked stone steps. Each fall reverberated up his spine as cold stifled words murmured from his mouth.

'Worst. Rescue. Ever!'

With a final turn Rossiter pulled the chair to a halt in the centre of the basement. The Doctor finally felt his body turn upright and his eyes stopped straining to see the path before him. In final desperation he called out to them once more.

'JUST STOP AND LISTEN TO ME!'

His hearts quicken as his words went ignored and seven bodies of the same build joined them. He didn't have to see The Master, just the thick smell of meat and thirst, dirt and ash, with his mutated Galifreyan scent was enough. The triumphant demonized voice came from behind him, 'Gotcha!'

Followed by the smug green alien, 'You think so?'

The Doctor's protests came out in vain again as the green glow beamed around them and teleported them off the Earth and way from The Master's wrath, to the second-class government issued Hesperus ship.

The Doctor began struggling in the chair again, shifting his feet to get around the straps holding him back. He shouted for the Vinvocci to break away the buckles and knots; pulling away the leather himself as he felt his arm loosen from its restraint. He launched himself to the mainframe of the teleport system, his hand grasping the air in his pocket as he searched for his precious tool in vain. 'Aaah, no sonic!' he sighed with subdued anger in his veins. He ran round the controls, desperation feeding his soul, as he punched in commands relentlessly. He ran a hand through his hair as he felt all hope drain away from him and time slow as he looked up.

Wilf mesmerised by the window standing in the Earthlight, his aged old body renewed by boyhood dreams come true. The Vinvocci, Addams and Rossiter, powering up their ship grasping for life at its ends for a means of escape. Three innocent lives turned to turmoil by The Oncoming Storm. He could leave right now. But leaving wasn't an option. A silent scream tore at his throat, indecision growing in him. He was still playing with their lives.

Frustration boiled over him, years of age withering away at his hearts as time brought back its damning speed. The Doctor frantic; kicked and battered the teleport system ruthlessly. Hurling his body with every ounce of strength, his knuckles whitened, teeth gritted in place as his soul shouted out against the inevitable running lines of fate.

The ship disappeared before them, a green glow surrounding them once more. The Doctor kept on lashing, his foot met the air and he stumbled on to his knees as Earth's gravity pulled him down. His hearts raced faster as his knee crashed down to the ragged stone floors. His stoic face solemn and contempt, he turned to see The Master's grinning face.

_No second chances, no EXCEPTIONS._

**A/N: Let the Master's reign begin, Doctor-whump coming up. REVIEW please. I'd like to hear what you think, even if it's short or bad. **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry, belated update. I had intended to update on Wednesday but I hadn't the time or access to a fully functional computer. **

**Chapter 6:**

'Going somewhere?' The Master smiled domineering over his fellow Timelord, relishing in his commanding height over him. The Doctor on his knees, the way it should be. He placed a firm hand on his shoulder, forcing him down, 'Bit rude don't you think? Doctor.' He spat his name out like vermin, maggots crawling in his mouth, launching his foot steadily into The Doctor's stomach. He could feel him shudder beneath him; his strength had doubled by the energy sparking around him, but The Doctor just held it with foolish stubbornness, pacing his deep heavy breath to control himself. There was no reply.

'And you brought in a new gang. No sainted Martha Jones. Rose Tyler.' The Doctor flinched at the names, keeping his silence as he watched The Master. The Master knew he'd hit his soft spot, testing it further as he sized up the new brigade. 'Now what, you're befriending their granddads and roping in spiky green cacti.'

'Vinvocci', Addams uttered out proudly, 'and we have no business with you, so just let us go.' She reasoned as though she talking to a sane ordinary man.

' But you're with him', he pointed accusingly at The Doctor, two guards immediately held The Doctor down, pushing his knees into the ground and seizing his arms to be awkwardly strained behind his neck. 'Him!'Bending down to The Doctor height and grabbing his collar in a hand, 'and we can't have that.' His voice shuddered darkly, sending a jolt of piercing white static coursing down his veins. His clothes tearing into fibres where the energy crackled back out of his skin.

The Doctor was now shivering in his form, the forces quaking his body, ever so slightly rocking in his restrained body to ease the pain. 'Leave them. .. Alone.' His voice cracked, easing air into his grazed throat. 'Leave...' he tried again, but felt a stiff cold hand close his mouth.

'And let loose a bandwagon of freedom fighters to burst you out again. I don't think so.' He rose back up, releasing The Doctor from his rigid grip regretting it instantly. 'No. Jus... Just stop. Listen you're everyone here,' he wheezed out, 'just let them take their ship and go'.

'No. There's going to be no one here for you. No time agent or companion. No stupid alien to help you.' He turned to guards, 'take them and turn them into one of us.'

'Master, no Don't.' The Doctor grew stronger, pulling away from the clones as he stood rising towards The Master.

'STAY THERE!' Without glance to his rebelling captive, he warped his hands and drove a stream of thick white waves surging towards The Doctor, throwing his body to the stone floor. He turned to face him, forcing his hand to push stronger into his enemy's chest. Each wave ripped through The Doctor's torn body. He could feel each limb growing alight with pain, numbing every other sense, tearing away his ability to move and speak. His body writhed in pain as the onslaught moved round his body; the energy concentrated on his hearts deepened him into the darkness. He felt it recede, but his body still throbbed, his left leg convulsing with the excess energy. He sagged in his clothes, heavy rasps of breath escaping his bleeding lips. His dishevelled form lying pitifully on the ground, unwillingly edging back into consciousness.

The Master proceeded casually, watching the Vinvocci leave the room to be converted. He'd extrapolate their DNA, place it into their system and fashion their bodies into him. Working like clockwork droids, turned by their own creation. He turned to face the eldest companion, although he didn't consider him much of a threat.  
>Wilfred waited for his moment; he hated the idea of becoming The Master and even more to leave The Doctor alone. He stood bravely, as though he was waiting for his verdict, thinking himself to be a small man in the games of the two Timelords. 'I think I'll keep you, think I'd go mad with just The Doctor around.' The Master sneered, 'it's not like you've outlived your use yet.' He signalled the two guards to move Wilf out, leaving him with The Doctor and two spare guards. Walked slowly towards The Doctor's weakened form, his head tilted phasing into a skull and back. He raised a foot in full view of The Doctor, shoved him onto his back and pressed down onto his right leg firmly. Pressuring it down, his body tensed till he heard the crack of the bone cutting into The Doctor's muscle, followed by a rasped cry and even more heavy determined breath.<p>

The Master sighed with a small grin, pulling up the pain stricken Doctor before quickly throwing him against the nearest wall; regretting his _kind_ action. He watched The Doctor's helplessly slump to the ground, his eyes glazed with hatred and pity and age.

The Master strode forward, grasped The Doctor unruly hair and spoke, 'I think it time for a little… re-education. We'll start with history.' His voice was cold, yet normal and casual. He dragged The Doctor's body down the corridor effortlessly. The Doctor wasn't ready to fight; he had no plan and no one to help him. He was alone and he knew The Master meant more than just to recount mindless events in time as a lesson.

**A/N: if did this did not fill your violent appetite, don't fear I do plan for it to get worse. Thanks for reading and please review :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

The Master dragged the weighted body down the corridors of the Naismith Mansion. He'd waited his time to get to The Doctor, the drums louder than ever demanding its revenge. He could feel them calling him, every beat, drumming so loud that they drowned out the sound of his own hearts. A rhythm of four that had dictated his life since he was a child, sent him mad and tore away his insanity till there was nothing more than a shred of his soul. He hated them but they had made him who he was, to get rid them would be like biting the hand that fed him. But they hurt so much; he couldn't keep them under control. He needed to control and bite and poison and strangle and kill and kill... Everyone! Every single weak decrepit little human would be torn and mutilated in front of their failed saviour, just to make him feel a fraction of his pain; of his the infinite burden. Then, maybe, he'd stop. When they were as damaged and desolate as each other. War-stricken orphans refuging on the planet of a lesser species. Then maybe. But now was not enough to just let it all melt away.

He threw The Doctor's body across the room and into the centre of the grand hall. His body plummeting to the ground, before his arms would respond to his body's pleading form. His face crashed into the bloodstained floor as his nose cracked and reopened his bleeding lips.

The Doctor's limp form rustled into timid existence. He turned his body to face him, arms pulling him forward brushing his legs beneath his deadweight. With slow ragged breaths, he hauled himself upon his good leg, then raised the other. Pain shot up spine, as he motioned his broken limb into a crooked stand. But his knees gave away, and he fell instantly. The Doctor shattered down towards the ground, but out of nowhere The Master's hand caught him before he fell.  
>Without remorse, The Master took his free hand, tangled it into The Doctor's dirt-ridden unruly hair and wrenched his head up. 'Lesson number 1: We write our own history, Doctor. Embrace it. Pain is GOOD.' He sneered wickedly into The Doctor's straining ear. 'So how about I show you how this is going to work.'<p>

In an instant, The Master began throttling his sparking fist into The Doctor's chest, repeatedly. With each blow the suit withered away, the last defence from The Doctor's skin ruthlessly torn away. Each strike formed a dark bruise, upon his chest, skin smouldering, burnt and blackened by the sparks. The Doctor's heavy gasps were barely audible over the unwavering sound of fists connecting with flesh, as The Master's kicks joined the brutal battle, pounding out a constant driving rhythm of four against The Doctor's wounded body. Rivulets of blood poured out from the deeper bruises, a small puddle growing on the marble floor.

The Master stared, pitilessly, still holding onto The Doctor's dishevelled hair. His eyes trailed over The Doctor's body. His open shirt had shredded away to reveal his pale skin chest rasping deeply, marked with scours of pink purpling bruises. His skin burnt, smouldering flesh still cooking like a blackened barbeque. The Master breathed over him, dragging in the scented air ravenously. His eyes still poured over The Doctor's scorched body, titling his head as though for a better view.

He could feel his chest come alight with pain. Every cell of his body, screamed out to his mind. The energy had faded, regressing into a small burning split reminiscing beneath his wounds. It hurt for him to breath; his rising chest inched forward punishingly, rasping for air. He watched The Master's eyes shadow over his form, waiting for another attack. The Master was too captivated in burning flesh to see the growing fear in his enemy's eyes as he brought his free hand out and gently pressured it over The Doctor's wounds, circling the edges of his crisp skin. The Doctor hissed under the touch, flinching as the fingers prodded at his flesh.

With a quick pace, The Master lunged a finger into his open wound, his nail biting at the flesh surrounding it. The Doctor couldn't hold his screams, as they escaped his lips tearing through the walls of the mansion. The Master finger pursed deeper and the cries grew louder, until The Doctor began to fade. Removing his finger, The Master watched.

Then without a shred of remorse, he threw up The Doctor's head and caught him by the neck. He fell lifelessly into The Master rigid grip. Tightening his hand, he watched The Doctor gasp for breath, and smiled as he returned to him alert and awakened. The Doctor's pain grew up his throat, his eyes widened with the loss of air, starving his body. He opened his mouth to form silent pleas that never reached The Master's ear. Pulling back an arm, The Master swung his crackling fist towards his skull and let the battered form fall from his hands. Another river of blood joined the ever-growing pool of dark crimson liquid. The Doctor's head bounced like a coconut off the floor, spilling out more blood.

'You see it now, Doctor, don't you? I was right.' The Master spoke callously; fully aware of The Doctor's condition as he circling the tired form sprawled across the floor. 'The drums are real. It's a message, my calling. My history.' He phased into his skeletal form, jerking with residual energy.

'I can help,' The Doctor croaked hopelessly, building his energy as he pushed himself onto his knees, his broken leg screaming in revolt. 'Let me help you.'

'No Doctor, I don't need your help,' The Master bounced down to The Doctor's level, pouting at him, 'in fact, you're only getting in my way.' He pushed The Doctor to the floor with ease, raising himself to his full height to tower him.

'Then why not kill me now?' The Doctor asked, a hint of sarcasm growing in his voice.

'I might do.' The Master smiled at the fear his words instilled in The Doctor, ' BUT. Then there wouldn't be any fun. Besides I still need something from you.'

'What?'

He pushed his hands smoothly into his pocket, and leaned forward.

'Your TARDIS.'


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8:**

'Your TARDIS'  
>As much as The Doctor had expected this demand, he couldn't help fear what The Master would do. Memories of his beloved TARDIS soared into his mind. The last time The Master 'refurbished' his TARDIS, he tore the heart out her, cannibalising his most constant and beloved companion. He could hear the cries, the pleas begging for her Doctor to return, seeping into his mind. Vivid flashes of red as the TARDIS cloister bell rang out like the sirens of The Blitz, only far far worse. Even the memories deafened his ears, his distressed machine cut open against consent.<br>A final batterment to his skull left The Master content enough to leave.

The Doctor stayed conscious long enough for him to hear the deadlock bolt of the door click into place with the whirring of his own sonic to follow. He could feel a ringing in his head pounding at the sides as he battled to stay conscious. Concussion didn't have the same effects on Timelords but his shattered body craved a long peaceful healing sleep. For now he lay on his back as not put pressure on his smouldered chest. He could feel the deep wounds burn within him; every shaft of cold shivering air sparked a stifled gasp from his throat. He thought of getting up and exploring the confines of his new found prison but his body refused and he soon caved into the inevitable darkness that closed in on him.

By the clock on the mantel piece, The Doctor had slept for a few hours, or more accurately 3 hours 47 minutes and 18 milliseconds according to his body clock. He raised his body to sit up, falling instantly before grudgingly finding the strength to sit up against the nearby chair Wilfred once  
>sat on. He heaved slowly, bringing in short drafts of air with the steady rise of his throbbing chest. He found the movement in his arm return quickly, his fitful sleep restoring his energy although his legs were yet to awaken. With each twitch of his legs, streams of fire seemed to surge up his muscles and he hissed in pain. Slowly he had them turning and drunkenly shifting from side to side.<p>

Half dazed he retired to forming a plan in his current position. Breathing deeply he closed his eyes, and tried to work through the haze and concentrate. Even creating a basic list seemed hard to manage, the ever-lingering pain still throbbing around his body, his broken leg thrashed at an awkward angle; even his chest still felt hot in the after burn of the arton energy he had blazing through his vessels a few hours back. Eventually, he managed a basic 5 point plan:  
>1. Escape from the room<br>2. Save Wilf  
>C) No... 3. Save Earth<br>4. Or d or IV even; Stop The Master.  
>And 5. Finally 5 would be to save himself.<p>

He decided to start with one, leave this room. Even in his state, The Doctor knew the sooner he acted the better, he couldn't afford to wait and see The Master's plan through.  
>Masked in the pain of his beatings he hadn't noticed the regenerative healing his body had manage to recover over the time he spent asleep his once broken leg was just a half the compound fracture it once was and that to The Doctor may as well have meant an incompetent leg with a limp for all he acted to care.<br>He began pushing himself up on the chair, seated for anything under a minute, before he thrust his own dead weighted self into the air.

The Doctor swayed precariously, finding his weight steadied between his feet. He fought to keep his eyes open, making himself wary of his surroundings, before launching his body at the door that kept him caged. The Doctor's body crashed onto the wooden panels, his hands catching the handle before he could slump onto the group. He struggled to open it, turning it in every direction possible even yanking it out, but a scratch barely fell upon it. Helplessness fell upon The Doctor and he began battering his side against the door to no avail. He could feel old wounds opening, his chest ripe with rivers of blood, his suit greedily staunching the crimson streams.  
>His breath came in short heavy rasps, as though he was drowning in air pulling in every breath. He threw himself at the handle once more, a loud groan torn from his throat as his fingers slipped around the golden latch. His hearts beat out of his chest, a fast and ragged pace.<p>

The Doctor sat still for a minute, catching his breath as he lay slumped against the door looking for another exit. There wasn't a window in sight and he was hardly in any shape to fit through an air vent if there was one.

But to his surprise there was one new addition to the room. Crudely hidden above the bookcases of the room, hid a camera. The Master was watching him, and every move he made. The Doctor gritted his teeth, trying not to take notice of the little intrusive box. He couldn't help imagining The Master's demeaning laugh as he enjoyed watching The Doctor's feeble attempts of escape.  
>An anger rose inside The Doctor, just the idea of The Master treating this like a game when he knew he was going die. Watching him like his he was a prize, a pet to his forsaken 'Master'.<br>He smiled jeeringly, he was about to let The Master take any satisfaction in watching him seem defeated and caged. He glanced round at the room noting everything inside; then turned to face the camera staring directly into it and raised his brows with a his infamous grin.  
>He held back a wince as he stood up again, rose to his feet and steadily limped towards Wilf's old chair. Pushing it nearer to the where the camera stood, he clambered up and smashed the camera against the wall.<br>'Time of a little privacy, I'd say.' The Doctor's voice rang out with growing confidence knowing that The Master would be listening.  
>Shards of glass spattered from the camera as he threw his fist into the screen, blood seeping out from his fresh cuts but he kept going. When he finally battered the camera apart The Doctor threw it down and stumbled off the chair sagging back down against the wall in content. He checked over his wounds clearing the glass away and wiping off the remnants of blood. The pain numbed by his temporary feeling of smug content.<p>

If there was one he thing he knew, this wasn't the last of his wounds, The Master was sure to enact his revenge and he'd have to open that door to do it. Step 2: save Wilf in progress.  
>For now though, he entered a light slumber welcoming the darkness of sleep, before The Master's inevitable return.<p>

**A/N: Couldn't find the time or notion to write recently, got exams coming up so this story is pretty much at a standstill, but I will finish it. Thank you for all the recent reviews, alerts and favourites :) Reviews are welcomed – bad/good – I don't mind. If there are any ideas you'd like to add, I'm also open to them. Should the Master survive? Will The Doctor regenerate? I'm trying to pull the plot in a bit more, next chapter hopes to be up soon. **


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: 2 things. 1- I should note, if you haven't realised already, I have a random tendency to delay for long periods of time. SORRY for the wait. I had exams, results, holidays, birthdays, and wanted to rewrite this chapter twice, then split it and do it over again. Thanks for the patience.**

**2- THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS, FAVOURITES and ALERTS! Please continue to read, I wasn't sure this was any good but always want to finish it. I'll be working in some suggestions but you'll see which ones later. Enjoy and for you troubles a healthy dose of whump.**

**Chapter 9****:**  
>Day 1 of the Master Race. The Master had addressed his people, or rather himself, for a call to war and triumph. He'd spent the day in idle solace, with the Earth beneath his feet and the human race depleted to one true human, Wilfred. A sense of satisfaction rose within him, a crafted smile centring his dark demeanour. His greatest prize, The Doctor, locked away and beaten by his own hand; soon to be utterly defeated.<p>

He'd set his clones to start work on the drumbeat signal within them, organising his new race into a cult, while The original Master sat by his desk watching his empire form. To his right the duplicates ran their tests, rose to arms waiting for a signal. To his left, sitting on the desk was a small Earth laptop linked to the camera in The Doctor's cell. A direct link to his enemy's world. The Master laughed at The Doctor's futile attempts to stand, mentally chiding the way he helplessly threw his battered form against the door. He mocked his enemy like he was watching a child's T.V. show, shouting at the screen for every foolish action of Earth's supposed hero.

For once in his life, The Master felt in control. Sure the raging drums were throttling within his skull, but he was on the verge of his destiny. The drums were his future, meticulously designed for him and him alone. His sole purpose rising to this moment and he had the world in the palm of his hand. Time was in flux, he could sense it and this... This was going to be spectacular!

With a painted grin upon his face he turned to watch The Doctor again. A familiar smile growing upon his oldest enemy - it had been too long since they were friends, but there were moments when it felt like they were back on Galifrey. It wasn't the friendly casual smile of old; this one was clever; smug and vengeful. Now the fun was about to start.

He watched as The Doctor clambered up, towards the chair moving closer to the camera. He saw his glazed eyes; dark aged and wise eyes staring straight into camera. Like two brown daggers that saw right through the little metal box, like they were in the same room. The Master could feel him brush his mind telepathically, but he wasn't reaching out for him. He was warning him, this wasn't a game. He wasn't going to dance for The Master, he refused to play.

The Mater watched on, curious to see The Doctor's next move. Part of him wanted to face him in the same room, 'teach' him his next lesson and put The Doctor in his place, but he decided to wait. They might not be playing a game, but there was nothing to stop him toying with The Doctor.

The Master leaned forward, peering at the screen. He watched The Doctor move closer, confidence rising in his old friend. "Doctor?" He spoke his name in a whisper. It was like his heart knew what The Doctor would, but his mind was too far to understand; lost in the never-ending drums, too far for even their Timelord bond to last. The Doctor had nudged the chair just below the camera, out of sight. His tired legs rising up until he'd shifted his entire body to stand on the chair; his head reappearing in screen. A broad yet weary smile.  
>"Doctor... "The Master rose, still leaning forward on the table. His mind worked through the haze of rising drums, a quiet laugh congratulated The Doctor's petty victory as he work out his plan, a short smile grew as he watched the screen falter. The Doctor's voice rose on the other side, but the camera was too destroyed to relay sound instead the once clear image brought fuzzy shades of grey to screen and a dark reflection of The Master's maddening face.<p>

He glanced towards his clones, already working on ways to hurt The Doctor. It was just so much easier to control the world when they had one mind. He took two guards and headed towards The Doctor's chambers.

The Master strode down the corridor with trepid anticipation as his clones marched on behind him. He found himself at the door to The Doctor's chambers in a matter of minutes, lingering a moment, his fingers ghostly tapping a shaky beat of four on the golden handle as he felt The Doctor's Timelord presence on the other side. Then the drums rose. The Master stormed into the room, awakening The Doctor from his light slumber. With the strong façade returning to his face, The Master roughly dragged The Doctor across the floor, trailing the tired body through the broken shards of glass before dumping him on to Wilf's old chair. One guard stationed himself behind The Doctor, while the other was posted by the door making escape not impossible, but strongly improbable.

The Master stood boldly in front of his captive; The Doctor staring back with a strong firm gaze readying himself for another one of The Master's onslaughts. Their eyes deadlocked onto each other; defiance and rage, hatred and fear, a strange sort of love and loneliness met in a wordless battle between the two Timelords. But a strong punishing beat of four dictated the playing field, the war drums siding with insanity and madness to topple all other emotions before they could even cast a shadow. Seconds past by…

"Look at us. Look at what we've become?" The Doctor sighed, breaking his firm glare into a softer sympathetic gaze. He searched for reasoning in The Master's mind, longing for one last tether holding them together.

The Master just smirked, "Earth's Conqueror and everything it holds, Master to 6 billion of my OWN species, my Master Race. I've eradicated all but one snivelling little human; oh, and I have you right here, right NOW. I think I'm doing pretty well don't you." It sounded more like a statement, rather than a question to The Doctor. That tether he hoped for seemed invisible, or at least it was simply less visible than the line that separated them.

"We're ALONE. Master, we're the only ones left. The last two-" The Doctor's words were laced with sadness and regret spoken through gritted teeth. His voice was rough as he wheezed the air through his torn throat, his battered form sinking into the numbing pain brought from The Master's previous visitation.

"And whose fault is that, eh, Doctor? Who burnt Galifrey to dust and ashes in the palm his hand? Which mighty God brought down not one but two entire civilizations? Doctor." The Master questioned, knowing the answer would hurt The Doctor inside – make him want to run and hide like the coward he was all those years ago. He spat his name out like dirt, spewing his words at The Doctor with subtle rage and subdued anger.

"I had my reasons and you... you already know them," tears welled up in The Doctor eyes, his face buried in his hands unravelled themselves as he pulled upon his weak knees to stand up; his height levelling bare inches above The Master, "Last chance, Master. Do you really want to be alone?"

The Master grabbed on to The Doctor's collar roughly pulling him closer, "I AM NOT ALONE." The Master spat onto The Doctor's face, as he launched his knee upwards.

The Doctor felt his legs collapse beneath him as his body came under threat. He sank into The Master's arms, grasping at his hands for extra support as his body stumble below him. He chanced a glance to the now taller Timelord to be meant by a dark sardonic grin.

"I have 6 billion clones at my side, Doctor, I am NOT alone. You are!" He threw The Doctor back down on the chair which shattered under the force. The Doctor groaned in pain, his face contorted uncomfortably as splinters of wood joined the glass shards embedded into his suit, as they pierced and grazed his skin.

"Enough nostalgia. Let's get down to business, eh Doctor?" The Master quizzed rhetorically, his mind recomposing himself to a calmer manner. He turned towards the guard by the door, nodding a secret signal as he approached him. The Master pocketed something into his black trousers discreetly. "Lesson 2" He turned on his heels, a sadist's grin painted upon his disturbingly calm face as he looked towards his reluctant _student_. The Doctor was sitting up now, glass and wood falling from his back as tried to relax, one hand shuddering away the shrapnel as he rested it on the ground steadying him. He stayed silent yet wary.

The Master was well aware of The Doctor's ignorance, but swept it away eager to move on. "Hold him", The Master indicated to the guard nearer The Doctor. In an instant his clone had moved to pull The Doctor's arms behind him in a tight vice-like grip. The Doctor tensed in his arms, as he felt imminent danger approach him. His eyes locked onto The Master's hand, as he delved into his pocket revealing a thick red leather collar, with a metallic glint. He tried to pull away from the guard, fear renewing his energy as he strained away from The Master but the guard's grip clamped down on him further. The Master strolled towards him casually pulling at the leash as he sized up The Doctor's throat with every step he took nearer. "Lesson 2, Doctor. Remember your enemy, remember your Master."

The Doctor fell to his knees, persuaded by a rough shove from his guard. The Master leered closer; he pulled the collar roughly round The Doctor's neck tightening it so it would leave deep red gashes in its wake. He yanked it up, forcing The Doctor's head up as he imposed eye contact. His battered foe staring into his eyes was met by an oblivion of drums, as an unknown fear began to bubble in his own.

"Now Doctor, this master does not take kindly to disobedience." The Master spoke condescendingly, ruffling The Doctor's hair like a pet as he indicated his gaze towards the broken camera, "And I'm afraid this can't go unpunished." He pouted his lips mockingly, enjoying his new found power over his muted enemy.

But The Doctor's silence bought him no relief; The Master swiftly threw a hard blow to his already scalded chest. He bent over in pain, his chin held up just by the leash; his body by the guard. A whispered groan passed his lips as he was reminded of the pain engulfing his form with a further kicks and punches embedded into his chest. He coughed and wheezed, but never screamed or cried. He held his mind away the pain and waited for an end. The Master stepped back from The Doctor's bloodied form, still holding the leash. "Apologize".

"No." It was short with a weak voice, but it denied The Master his satisfaction and that was all The Doctor needed. He was rewarded with another fist, but he repeated his answer. The same hand clamped around his neck, the collar tightened as The Master's fingers began to slowly crush his throat. "Now"

"Noo…" The air left. The collar tightened.

"N…" Darkness grew. A foot met fabric and flesh. Blood spilled.

"N….Aaa…I'm so..rry..ple..." The collar was still tight, but light returned.

One voice cut through his agony, 'Louder'.

He took a generous gulp of air and uttered words he'd spoken so often, except this time it felt out of place and without meaning. "I'm sorry", there was no emotion, just words but that would be The Master's win, anyway.

'Good.' He removed his lingering fingers, detached the leash from its collar and stepped back. The Doctor slumped forward, drained of colour and air. He collapsed to the ground as the guard released him, his arms still too tired to catch him, he simply let his body fall; focused on pulling the air into his lungs.

"What now?" The Doctor grounded out, he wanted to be left alone to rest and sleep but he held off the impending darkness in fear of another attack. He pulled his arms out in front of him pushing up so his face could be held mere inched off the ground to followed The Master's movement.

"Now, we get you cleaned up for part two. Might even have a visitor in." The Master smiles, his words sounded as though he was taking a patient rather a prisoner. The door opened, two technicians entered carrying a large trough-like container filled with ice and water. They placed it next to The Master's feet, one technician handing him a small plastic cup. They left without a word. "The Vinvocci." The Doctor whispered in saddened disbelief.

"Part of the Master Race now." The Master stated pleased with his empire, he ran the cup into the trough; filling it half full with water. He moved towards The Doctor, bent down and holding his chin up, poured the water into his thirsting mouth letting half of the precious liquid dribble and drip around his lips.

The Doctor drank the ice water greedily; he lacked in energy and desperately needed a boost. He took it without question, not even taking a second to doubt The Master's new found generosity and care. He felt the cold water trickle down his chin towards his chest, a soothing line of cool dampness relieving his sores and tension in seconds. Yet all too quickly the water finished and the cup was removed, his headed slacked down and he finally raised his gaze towards The Master questioningly.

As though reading his mind, The Master replied "Well, I can't have you dying on me. Now Doctor, ready for bath time."

**A/N: I have the next 1000 words of chapter 10 so bare with me. Thanks again.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10:**

_Yet all too quickly the water finished and the cup was removed, his headed slacked down and he finally raised his gaze towards The Master questioningly. _

_ As though reading his mind, The Master replied "Well, I can't have you dying on me. Now Doctor, ready for bath time." _

The Doctor eyed the water cautiously, the ice bobbing just above the water. A glass of water was easy to handle, but bucket seemed a tad too far for his drained form. "I think I'll pass, wouldn't mind some sleep, though." He wheezed through the fading exhaustion with a touch of humour in his voice.

"No, I insist Doctor. Take it." The Master proclaimed as though he was talking to an _honoured_ guest, he crouched down towards The Doctor a darker smile growing larger, as he placed a threatening hand around the back of his captive's neck forcing the copper lined collar into his skin, raising his head stare at the freezing cold water bath. "Besides it's not optional."

The Master sent a spark from his hand, the energy pulse round The Doctor's body in seconds. His throat was torn with a scream as the metallic collar conduct the waves into a burst of agony.

"A shock collar." The Doctor muttered flinching and flailing as the shocks kept creeping back. His fingers went to grasp at his collar in an attempt to loosen, but they never reached. The Master was now standing tall above him. One foot pushed down on The Doctor's already bruised and fragile hand warningly, while another pulse of blue static grew in his own hands. "I prefer energy choker", he sent the static down on his helpless foe, restrained muffled groans growing from beneath him.

"No don't." The Doctor's quiet pleading fell on deaf ears. The Master dragged him up and hurtled his body into the water. The icy coldness hit him in an instant; The Doctor's body was engulfed in frosty wet hailstorm. The wounds cooled quickly relieving the pain for a while as he felt himself go numb and everything seemed quiet. But suddenly the coolness became cold and the ice bit at his wounds and froze over his skin. He felt his lips crack and senses derail. The Doctor's survival instinct kicked in, his hands found the sides of the trough and began heaving himself out. His legs trashed frantically splashing water away, he felt the warm air begin to furrow through his hair but The Master wasn't finished yet.

Three pairs of hands set themselves on The Doctor's body, his flailing legs were stilled while his hands were wrapped round his back and tightly cuffed together. The Master tangled his hands into The Doctor's hair thrusting him back in the water, bubbles of air floating to the surface as The Doctor gasped for air. He continued to struggle, fuelled by his adrenaline, his body fought while he calmed his mind readying his respiratory bypass. His energy drained body was no longer working to Timelord standard. Time seemed to slow and he felt himself begin to slip.

The Master watched gleefully as The Doctor squirmed in the water, the power of belittling his nemesis riding into the drums. Twisting his fingers he battered The Doctor's skull to beat of the raging drums till they began to fade. He felt The Doctor slip into darkness and flipped him on his back, still in the water. Groans and mumbles grew from The Doctor's throat as he finally resurfaced above the water, roughly pulled up by tattered drenched lapels of his suit. The Master held him just above the water, coughing and jerking in his hands, till he stilled - gasping quietly for breath.

The Doctor's gaze was hazy and blurred. His brown orbs quickly refocusing on the distorted image of The Master.

The Master studied the dreary body in his hands, realising how much strain The Doctor seemed to be under but paid little notice. He held The Doctor's upper body in one arm placing it beneath him, while the other tightly griped The Doctor's chin as he turned and inspected each damp washed-over side. He seemed paler yet was gaining colour by the minute. '_Timelord Healing_', He took a mental note to remember that, for now he'd make sure he was kept weak.

The Doctor was mentally focused but dazed through physical weariness, he was in no fit state to keep playing The Master's sick games. He felt prodding of The Master's damp callous fingers, ignite the numbed pain sensors back alive flinching away as The Master inspected his face.

"We're not done yet, Doctor. Still one question to answer."

"And what's that?" The Doctor gritted through the pain never willing to bend to The Master's ways.

"The question I last left you with."

'_My TARDIS' _The Doctor knew full well what he wanted, but at that moment he wasn't quite aware of it, the recent past being a strong force of the haziness in his mind. A simple TARDIS blue cloud reminded him, not that he would tell The Master.

"Forgotten have we?" he played along to The Doctor's charade, knowing he hadn't pushed him to the full extent of his Timelord limits, "Why don't I give you a spark to restart?"

The Doctor seemed confused; he raised a quizzical eyebrow lost in the conversation, before fear shot through his eyes with an unwelcomed realisation.

Time seemed to slow as The Master dropped his body into the freezing water, icy coldness flooded round his system again as he became all too aware of his sub-zero surroundings. He emerged at the water's edge coughing and spluttering, as time sped forward again, leaving seconds for The Doctor to make out the images of The Master's erratic hands sparking energy again. The blast shot down towards The Doctor. The water conducted the energy, sending an endless onslaught around his entire body. The collar seemed to tighten as the metal lining sent electrified shocks down his already suffocated throat, his head lurching back violently desperately trying to keep his mouth above the skin of the water. He felt the energy course through him, pounding against his hearts with a fiery wake to be rapidly cooled by the icy water. The Doctor tried to heave himself out, metal-bound hands beneath him tried to push his weight upwards but with every inch he made the shocks kept blowing him down again, fingers crushed under his body. Mumbled groans became torn and then silent screams as The Doctor continue to flail in his prison of crackling blue light. He threw his weight against the container. Taunt gritted muscle thrashed itself against the sides repeatedly, as it tried to shake the energy out. Three shoves later The Doctor has succeeded his escape. He toppled out and over the trough bringing it down with him, as he lay crumpled on the floor. The ice and water spilled out behind him, a cold shudder fell down his spine as it soaked into the carpet beneath him. The Doctor shifted himself onto his side; his drenched suit slumped around him as he eagerly tried to warm himself quicker. He curled into a half formed ball, lacking the energy to see it through.

The drums quieten. The Master circled his drained prey. The water spluttered towards his feet, the bloodstained carpet soaking in the clear fluid. He crouched down to The Doctor's level. His damp fingers searched beneath the collar for a pulse, thready but strong. Stubborn and defiant.

"So Doctor, where is that little blue box of yours?"

He held The Doctor's shivering chin stilling it in seconds. His pale wet lips parted for an answer, water trickling out as he coughed up the remains of the trough.

"That _box_… is mine…" The Doctor panted out, edging himself out of The Master's hands.

"Maybe your friend can persuade you otherwise." The Master opened the door to reveal a blindfold Wilf being hustled into the room. A wooden chair was set at the back of the room a metre away from The Doctor. A disgruntled Wilf was ushered into the room and sat in his place.

"_Wilf_" the whisper was quiet but The Doctor's voice fell like a pin in the room.

"Doctor? Is that you? Doctor?" Wilfred could recognise that voice anywhere, dedicated the past few weeks of his life searching for it. Yet he called out the name with a hint of hesitation. The Doctor was ready to reply eager to have someone bar the megalomaniac Master to talk to, but he was cut short.

The Master pulled out a gun…

**A/N: Sorry it's late. Again. But please to do review, I've loved the feedback and am taking some time to work them into the story. I'm still open for a few more ideas. But thanks so much for the alerts, favs, reviews, and just for reading this far. **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I'm sorry, I know this is seriously late,**

**And there are no excuses to debate.**

**But life's been crazy and I have been lazy,**

**So for your patience here's an update.**

**Disclaimer: (if it wasnt obvious already:) I do not own Doctor Who.**

**WARNING: STRONG**** violence, please do not read on if this may affect you. **

**Chapter 11:**

Of all the people The Doctor had met Wilfred Mott wasn't the immortal or the leader of a covert defence taskforce or the alien from outer space. He hadn't once absorbed the heart of the TARDIS; walked a broken world alone being its only hope, nor did he have a part Timelord part human brain tucked away in his mind. Sure, he'd been in a war and on the winning side, but he never shot a man though that's not to say he wasn't proud of that.

Wilfred Mott was a simple but seemingly unimportant old man from Chiswick who'd found himself caught in the cross fire of a battle that started out long before his time. He sat timidly between two Lords of time, his fate moulded by their actions.

The Master's clones had shuffled him into a small dark room, in which he could barely make out his surrounding walls. He was again tied to a chair, rope bound his hands tightly behind his back and held his feet steadfast to the legs of the chair. He found no room for movement and could barely loosen his bindings.

The darkness seemed to loom over him, alone in the small dark room. Barely decorated, it seemed just big enough for a storage cupboard - be that human storage. The lack of light left the finer details of the room to his imagination, but as Wilf peered round it seemed there was nothing of interest he could pick out. He settled in his chair waiting his time, till he saw the shadowed figure in the corner of the room. "Who's there?" he called out cautiously.

The figure stepped out into view, standing in the dwindling light that shone through the cracks of the doorway. The woman. She was back. "Events are closing, Wilfred; the day is almost upon us. But tell me, old soldier. Did you take arms?"

"I brought this." Hesitantly, Wilf ushers her gaze to his pockets, the revolver tucked safely inside. "But what am I supposed to do?"

"This is The Doctor's final battle here. At the final end to this war, he must stand against them once more or lose himself and all this world to the End of Time."

"But he never carries guns, he doesn't do that. He…" Wilfred sighed, letting go of baited breath he didn't realised he held.

But the woman interrupted him before he could explain, "Before this day ends, your weapon must be fired. A bullet shot, a life lost."

Wilfred broke his gaze, not willing to imagine The Doctor even carrying a gun let alone kill someone, even if it was The Master. Shaking his head he turned back to her, but she had somehow left the locked room.

It wasn't long before he heard footsteps approaching his door. The Master's goons had returned to collect him. The door opened, blinding light entered the previously pitch black room leaving Wilf to turn his head in protection squinting at the foreboding shadows of his captors. But the light didn't last long, he felt a soft long cloth wrap round his eyes bringing the darkness back. He would have welcomed it, but his body tensed as he felt the guards urge him to walk blindly out and into the corridors. With his hands retied in front of him, he trailed his bound arms before him finding little aid as he was ushered down the corridor by the rough nudge of muzzled guns.

Rough hands pulled him to a stop and wrapped round his mouth silencing him indefinitely. He heard nearby whispers, a growing growling voice, menacing and manipulating. A few short groans turned blood curdling screams rose, laughter and the unmistakeable voice of two Timelords he'd come to know of faltered through the walls. He couldn't quite make out the entire conversation, but he figured The Master wanted something, needed something and he would get it while watching The Doctor struggle helplessly at his hands.  
>Then there was a sudden silence. An eerie elongated silence. He heard the click of a door opening and felt himself being shuffled into a much wider room, pushed down on a small wooden chair yet again.<br>He heard his name. Called in a quite whisper, hope bottled in a single word drifted to him cutting through his surrounding darkness. He has spent the past few weeks searching for that voice, round every crook and corner of London. Yet when he called for its owner there came no reply, just another distant silence filled the gap. He called again; quieter, fully aware that The Master would have been in the room somewhere, watching.

It was only with the next sound, despite its stillness, which cut through his wall of darkness did he realise what was going. If he had learnt of three sounds from his days in the war it would have been the silence of dead men, the cheer of those who'd won and catch off the gun that had killed them. This one was the latter.

* * *

><p>The Master ushered a finger towards his lips, tempting The Doctor to speak. The arrival of their new guest had seen yet another exhaustive revival of The Doctor's energy and stamina, trying to keep up with The Master's winding games. He pulled himself up, bound hands dragging his numb body to sit up. He watched The Master cautiously as he raised his body attempting to stand, only getting as far as a seated position aided by the still icy wet trough he has just fought to remove himself from.<p>

Teeth gritted, eyes watching the gun The Doctor drew his breaths in lightly weighing up his options. He held his tongue as he watched The Master circle round his last remaining friend, the only one left he hadn't killed or got killed, seen leave or been left behind, or to watch him forget his life though he could never forget his friends. Wilfred was his last connection to humanity and he craved it desperately.

Wilf's quiet murmur was, for now, enough to keep The Doctor sane.

The Master smiled at the pure silence that donned the room, asides from the constant drumming there was nothing but the shallow breaths of his captives. Having taken control of the room he slotted his gun away, the threat still imminent. He moved behind The Doctor and crouched down, his hand tangled into his hair wrenching The Doctor's head back, hissing into his ear;

"So, Doctor. What'll it take?"

"Master, please…" The Doctor struggled to speak coherently, a thousand thoughts ramming his mind as he tried to rein control over his head both mentally and physically, "Don't hurt him. You…We don't have to do…"

It wasn't the answer The Master had wanted, he threw The Doctor's head forward with a surge of energy. The Doctor couldn't hold back the pathetic cry that poured pass his lips again. He managed to stay seated, the pain fleeting and merging in with his exhaustion.

"Doctor?" Wilfred's voice rang out with fear as he heard his friend's voice torn from him.

The Master turned round, like a showman who had forgotten his audience. "Sorry, I forgot to welcome you back." He whipped off Wilfred's blindfold introducing him to The Doctor's world and soon to be permanent home, before brutally giving him a taste of it as he throttled his fist into Wilf's face.

The sudden light caught Wilfred off first. His dark haven had been invaded, but just as it cleared he started to recognise The Master's fist coming his way. He felt the heat from his cheek radiate and redden his skin. Though it hadn't drawn blood, it was enough to make Wilfred groan with vague dizziness. He could just make out The Doctor's voice of concern as his senses returned to him and tried to smile weakly in his general direction reassuringly. He raised his head to see The Doctor and what kind of hell he'd gone through alone at The Master's hand. He saw an image he didn't think he'd ever forget, his friend beaten and broken. Drenched from head to toe, The Doctor sat with a mild shiver in front him. His wrists were bound behind him, soaked hair dishevelled and his body was badly bruised. Open wounds gave way to slits of roughly wash off blood, his suit though tattered remained in one piece hanging loosely around his tired figure. He looked up to face The Doctor; red welts lined his neck marred by a leather collar Wilfred knew he hated. Exhaustion and pain wracked his body unmistakably, despite his strong façade. He could see The Doctor was hiding much of it beneath his skin for his benefit.

"Doctor?" Wilf's concern was clear; he'd never seen The Doctor in such a damaged condition. Yet he knew looking up at him now, something neither Timelord knew. Somehow they would turn this around tonight and The Doctor would have to take arms and make his stand against The Master. He could feel the gun sitting discretely in his pocket, feeling heavier than it used to. The burden of its future weighing it down.

He turned to see The Master, his face simmering with anger at The Doctor's brutal treatment but his reactions had still not regained its balance as The Master's fist lashed down on his left cheek again. His head span as he pulled his weighted body back to centre, the force having almost knocked him over. The Master's fist was coming round for another beating…

"STOP!" The Doctor had risen from his place to a crooked wavering stand, a single clone guard struggling to hold back the taller Timelord. The Master swivelled his head back to The Doctor, his tightened fist frozen in its path. "Stop." He was quiet this time, but adamant still.

"Where is it, Doctor? Tell me and I'll stop. WHERE. IS. IT?" The Master's voice grew louder as his clenched hand completed its path into Wilf's abdomen. The frail man bending over himself in his restrained position as he tried to comfort his body from the sudden onslaught.

"It's… It's here…" The Doctor shouted out above the sounds of flesh meeting flesh, unshed tears forming in his eyes. "It's…"

"Doctor, don't. Whatever it is you can't give it to him." Wilf spoke with reason, his words striking The Doctor with unavoidable truth. He was silenced by another hit.

The Master turned back to his captive, expecting him to finish his answer but found nothing. He sniggered sadistically at The Doctor's resistive silence; an arrogant smile grew as he tipped his head back and nodded to the guard. "Do it now", The Master's face void of all expression except for his aggression, he moved towards the somewhat confused Doctor, "I grow impatient of your little games Doctor. I don't need him here," He gestured towards Wilf like a pet, his heartless gaze meeting The Doctor's, "Barely have a reason to keep _it_ here except for you, but if you're still not playing by my rules well…" The Master raised his eyebrows as asking a question that didn't have an answer.

Behind them, Wilfred began to waver. The second guard had pulled him up to stand, cutting the rope that kept him captive. He brought his hand to his head feeling dizzy and looked up. The Doctor saw it first; The Master already aware of what was happening, "Stop it, Master. Stop this now." The Doctor was visibly struggling again as he watched Wilf's head shudder erratically back and forth.

"No." The gleeful yet quiet reply silenced The Doctor, as they watched the last true human fleet out of existence.

It was The Master's body, his clone, standing like a new born in Wilf's old clothes. They didn't fit either, Wilf's trousers hung round him like baggy jeans his coat and clothes creased over themselves on his thinner slightly taller frame. It was wrong and The Doctor could feel it.

"He did nothing to you; none of them deserve that…" The Doctor spat his words beneath heavy laboured breaths.

"But he's with you. A friend of the Doctor is no friend of mine" he whispered tunefully into his ear, with or without the drums The Master was now indefinitely growing into madness. "Besides you're lucky he's still alive." He stepped back out The Doctor's reach, "I can still kill him and you know me, Doctor. You know my plan and you know you can't stop me. So where have you hidden it?" Words began to form at The Doctor's lips,

"No."

But it wasn't him. It was The Master's voice, speaking the words of the ever rebelling Wilfred Mott. His face was still not his own, but his gruff voice and hazel grey eyes were enough to see who it really was. Though neither Timelord for all their wit and power, could ever imagine this future. Wilf's clone had raised his hand pulling the revolver from his pocket and held it steadily in his hand.

"I can feel him… in my head. He's there." The Master was confused but curious.

"He fighting you, 6 billion minds. 6 billion voices crying for help and one cracked through." The Doctor searched for hope cautiously watching Wilf's hand.

The Master shook his regaining control, "The drums drown them out but he can't do anything. He might have a voice and little control but they're all programmed to protect not kill me." He watched on waiting as he broke The Doctor's hope in two, though neither expected Wilfred to raise his gun to his own head and fire.

His body limp crashed instantly to the ground, The Master did nothing but hold back the despondent Doctor. Wilf had realised he was The Master's only bargaining chip against The Doctor; he was the reason they could do nothing but not anymore. He took arms, and with that he took his life.

"Siding with The Doctor, only brings you death and despair." The Master recited his old words again, ringing more truth now. He hadn't expected this, but that didn't mean he cared, "Another life lost in your name." He seethed the words into The Doctor's ear as they looked on at the lifeless body, still lying in the form of The Master.

When The Doctor stilled his shaken form, he was dropped aside, rocking his body gently as he gazed at the dead clone that was once his friend. He knew The Master wouldn't give him the chance to see him, so he sat waiting for them to leave his eyes transfixed on the spot where his friend once stood. The Master gave the orders to clear out and remove the body as he walked away.

A bullet shot, a life lost.

**A/N: I wasn't sure whether to set a warning of character death or if that would give the plot away. Please tell me if you think this should be changed. **


End file.
